


Travelin' Soldier

by agentmarvel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1940s!Steve, Coney Island, F/M, Fluff, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reader-Insert, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: Loosely based on the song of the same name by the Dixie Chicks.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Travelin' Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsleanneyall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsleanneyall/gifts).



> For someone who's been reading my trash for a long, long time.
> 
> I appreciate you so so much, so here's a small thank you<3

Every day goes exactly the same: get out of bed, get gussied up, go to work, come home, sleep. Rarely does anything ever change. Deviations from your daily routine tend to land you in hot water, be it with the degenerates in the next apartment or those rotten knuckleheads that loiter outside the bars on your route home.

Today, however, feels different from the get-go. You wake up twenty minutes before your alarm is supposed to go off. Getting ready is seemingly effortless. Every piece of hair, every flick of eyeliner, it all goes off without a hitch the first time around. Usually, you have to struggle a little more before it’s deemed passable. There aren’t any hooligans running amok on your way to the diner, and not a single cloud can be seen for miles around.

You can’t help but wonder… What’s the catch?

Even throughout your work day, nothing seems amiss. Mr. Hooper came in right on time, having his usual coffee with a newspaper read. Mae, your co-worker and best friend, keeps herself suspiciously busy, surprisingly refraining from gossiping _too_ terribly much. Quite a feat for her, considering she’s one of those motor-mouth gals who runs non-stop. Andy keeps his grill running peacefully, Linda gifts you with a raise in pay because “you deserve it, love”, and best of all, _he_ came in.

Now, _that_ sure is a surprise. He ain’t a very big fella, maybe only half a head taller than you and all skin and bones. Those big ol’ baby blues of his are cast down towards the tile from the moment he walks in. Silently, he makes his way to a booth in the back. Poor kid looks so disheartened, downtrodden. Despite the oversized army greens and whopper of a bruise around his eye, he is positively beautiful.

When he sits down in a booth in your section, your breathing hitches, air catching in your throat. The noise that comes out is a cross between a gasp and a choke. Mae glances at you sideways, nodding towards the booth and mouthing the word ‘go’. Cautiously, you grab a menu from the slot beneath the counter and approach the table.

“Afternoon, sir. What’cha drinkin’ today?” you inquire with a soft, polite smile. You set the menu in front of him before pulling out your notepad. The tremble in his fingers is almost imperceptive as he scrambles to pick up the menu, but you certainly notice. You’re too focused on him to miss it.

“Just coffee, please. Got a long day ahead of me, an’ I gotta stay sharp,” he replies nearly shakily, still not looking up. You tuck a loose curl behind your ear, fingertips brushing the bow in your hair. Mae’s staring, you can tell. Her eyes practically pierce your back. With a wary glance over your shoulder, you signal to her that you need the coffee pot, then you turn back to the man in front of you.

“Shippin’ out today, huh?” Finally, his eyes shift up to you. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his lips part. The wheeze that slips out makes him cover his mouth and apologize profusely.

“Headin’ out for trainin’, actually.” You take the pot from Mae’s hand without sparing her a glance, pouring the scalding hot coffee into the man’s mug. “I’m sure you’re real busy and all, but you mind sittin’ down with me an’ chattin’ for a bit?” The nervous shake returns as he clutches the plastic menu in his grasp. Poor thing is so shy, and it makes you want to just…

“I’d love to, really I would, but I actually _am_ real busy right now… Off in an hour, though. I know the perfect place for us to go. Think you can wait that long?” He nods painfully slow, but that little grin morphs into a full blown smile. Your knees would be a’knockin’ if he didn’t look more bashful than you feel.

“I’m sure I can.”

As you come to find out, his name is Steve. Sweet little guy, heading out to Camp Lehigh within the next few hours, and yet here he is, sitting on the pier at Coney Island with you. The conversation has been absolutely wonderful, sharing laughs and childhood stories. He tells you all about his ma, and how she got sick and passed a few years back. You share all about your family, especially your own mother, who had unfortunately met the same fate.

“Tuberculosis is a real beast, ain’t it?” he mutters, shaking his pretty lil’ head.

He tells you all about his scars; about just how many times the military has rejected him and why. He tells you about Dr. Erskine, the man who gave Steve a chance. He tells you about his best friend, Bucky, who was already shipped out and fighting. You talk to him about Mae. The two of you share stories about the antics of your closest friends, and it feels like you’ve known each other for years, rather than two hours.

“Guess I’d better head back, huh?” he sighs as the sun begins to set. With a sad smile, you shake your head.

“Guess so, even though I don’t wanna let ya,” you answer bluntly, resting your head on his bony shoulder. Hesitantly, he slips his arm around your shoulders before gently setting the side of his head on top of yours.

“You think maybe it’d be okay if I, uh, if I write you while I’m gone? Ain’t really got no one at home since Buck’s at war and my ma’s gone. S’not a big deal if you say no, though, so don’t feel like you gotta-”

“I’d love that, Steve. I think it’d be real neat if you kept in touch.” You feel him pick his head up, and, from the corner of your eye, you can see him directing a sideways glance at you.

“You really mean that?” Without pause, you nod emphatically. “That’d be swell! Can I see you again if I come back?”

“When, Steve. _When_ you come back, okay? Ain’t no ‘if’ about it. You’re comin’ home.” He snickers and retrieves his arm from your shoulder. His knobby fingers find their home between yours and he stands up straight, helping you to your feet.

“You’re awfully kind, y’know that? Pretty, too. Real pretty.” That set the apples of your cheeks on fire, making you suddenly feel strangely timid. You look down at his hand in yours, rubbing your thumb across his. “’m sorry, was that too forward? Did I offend you? Good God, look at me an’ my big dumb mouth…”

Honestly, you can’t help it. You lean into him, probably catching him off-guard, and plant a sweet, soft kiss against his lips. It lasts only a couple of seconds, but it’s by far your favorite kiss.

Steve freezes beneath the contact, and it startles you a bit. You wonder if you made a good decision with this. But then you remember that he’s a very vocal young man, and if he didn’t want you to kiss him, he would’ve pulled away by now. Once the initial element of surprise subsides, Steve’s pressing back with fervor. When you pull away, your eyelids feel heavy, like you can’t open them. Instead, you opt to press your forehead to Steve’s. Your free hand traces his jaw before your thumb finds his lower lip. The pad of your thumb maps its outline. A ragged breath escapes from Steve’s throat, like he can’t catch up with it.

“I _like_ your big dumb mouth, Steve. Think I woulda spent most of my day out here with ya if I didn’t?” He shakes his head half-heartedly. “Don’t apologize to me for nothin’, okay?”

Instead of answering, Steve presses his lips a little further forward, barely catching yours for a second time. Again, like the first, it only lasts a few seconds.

“Ain’t apologizin’ for that,” he snarks quietly. You nod in response, not sure if you could even find the words to acknowledge it anyways. Your mind is still reeling in the best possible way. A comfortable silence settles in, and you desperately wish it could stay like this.

But Steve opens his mouth to say something else. Just as quickly, though, he closes it again and instead steals another chaste peck. “Guess I’d better be gettin’ back. Mind if I walk you back to the diner?”

“That’d be wonderful, Steve.” Again, he sighs heavily. The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, silently enjoying the shared contact and a few more quick smooches.

*

_Hey ~~baby~~ ~~princess~~ ~~sugar~~ doll!_

_Things have been kinda crazy around here. Lots of physical stuff, but I guess I didn’t expect much less. We’ve been doing a lot more running this week, though. I think I’ve been here long enough, so it’d be real nice if they’d send me off or send me home ‘til they’re ready to send me off, you know? Sounds like I’m getting a little antsy, I know, but it’d be swell to see you again before they ship me out. Don’t understand why I gotta wait around for so long._

_Thanks for sending that picture for me. All the fellas are real jealous that I got a gorgeous gal to write home to. Sure ~~did miss~~ do love that smile of yours ~~, if that ain’t too dumb of me to say~~. I sat down the other day and drew something for you. It should be in with your letter, too. I know I send you an awful lot of my ~~stupid~~ sketches, but I remember you said you liked ‘em, so I keep sending them. Hopefully, you won’t get too bored with them._

_Look, I ain’t quite sure how any of this works. Dunno if it’s even possible, but I gotta tell ya, I think I’m really falling in love with you. I know we’ve only been writing each other the last few months, but I think about you all the time. When I’m having a rough day, I think about that day at Coney Island, when me and you were sitting on the dock. I think about that pretty smile and all them kind words. That makes everything okay. Makes everything worth it, you know? I ain’t just fighting to protect my country anymore. There’s more at stake for me now, ‘cause I wanna protect you. Ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and honestly, that kinda scares me a little. I don’t really know what love feels like, but from what I’ve heard, I think how I feel about you is pretty damn close._

_When I walked into that diner, I wasn’t expecting my entire life to change. Thought I was just gonna get some coffee and breakfast and be on my way, but that ain’t what happened. I met a gorgeous girl with a bow in her hair and a smile on her face. I think about ~~you~~ that all the time. Never will understand what made you decide to sit down with me, but I thank God every single day that you did._

_~~I’m a lot braver on paper, huh?~~ _ _Just thinking about all them corny cock-eyed jerks that’re probably trying to ration you makes me wanna snap my cap. So I gotta ask: if you’re feeling any sorta way about me, would you be my girl? I promise I’ll take you out as soon as I get home. I’ll ask you again the right way._

_Sorry for all the gobbledygook. Never been too good with words, but I hope you understand. It’ll be a while before I get to write you again. I’ll still be able to read your letters, just won’t be able to answer as fast as usual. But don’t you worry; promise I’ll be thinking about you._

_All my love (and I really really mean that),_

_Steven G. Rogers_

_P.S. Put a little something extra in for you. Hope you like it!_

_P.P.S. I bet you look damn beautiful today. Can’t wait to see you again._

For four months, Steve had sent you weekly letters. This one wasn’t like the others.

Instead of signing it ‘yours truly, Steve Rogers’, he’d signed his full name. Rather than the usual drawing of scenery or the people around him, he’d sketched something different. It was the spitting image of you from that day on the pier, with your curls and your bow and a big ol’ smile. Steve had remembered all the details of your necklace, exactly which dress you were wearing, everything. Not a single facet was missed. His name was scribbled in the bottom corner, as well as the date he drew it. And that something extra? It sure was a surprise. One of his dog tags was in the bottom of the envelope.

**Rogers,**

**Steven G.**

**54985870**

**Brooklyn, NY**

By requirement, he was supposed to keep them both, but Steve didn’t seem like the type to ever be bossed around by anyone

-

A month passes with no word from Steve, and aside from the immense emotional pain it causes, life has mostly returned to a relatively normal state. The usual: get out of bed, get gussied up, check the mailbox, go to work, come home, check the mailbox, sleep, and start all over again.

Everything you wrote in your last letter keeps coming back to mind, like you can’t forget it for even just five minutes. 

_I love you too, Steven. No question about it. I’ve known since the very second you looked at me with them pretty blue eyes… But I won’t say it again until I can say it to your face. You deserve to hear it straight from my mouth. The drawing you sent was beautiful, Stevie. Do you really see me like that? I’ll be yours from this day on, Steve Rogers. You got my entire heart in the palm of your hand. All my love (and I really really really mean that!)_

“Why don’t ya go out with me tonight, sugar? We’ll find some real nice guys and go dancin’,” Mae smiles, rubbing your shoulder. “Heard that Captain America fella is in town tonight, maybe we can get you shacked up with him, huh?” You shake your head as Mae shrugs her coat on.

“No thanks, Mae. You know I only want my Stevie. Just wish I’d hear from him already, y’know? I’m worried.”

Soon enough Mae relents (though not without immense protest), allowing you to go home, and you make a mad dash for it. You make it home in record time, and for the first time in a long time, there’s something in your mailbox other than a bill. Your heart leaps into your throat as you recognize the one thing you’ve been waiting on, the one simple thing you’ve been holding out hope for. You book it upstairs, feel barely touching the floor. No sooner than you slam your front door behind you, you’re tearing off the flap. The letter’s in Steve’s handwriting. It’s a simple little note, only four sentences and a signature.

_You said you wouldn’t say it again until you could say it to my face. See you tonight, beautiful. I can’t wait to hear it._

_\- Steve_

_P.S. Sorry I took so long!_

The fact that he hasn’t forgotten you and you hadn’t scared him off, that’s a huge relief to you. When will Steve show up? What time will he be there? How does he know when you were supposed to be off work?

It doesn’t matter. Steve’ll be here. Your Steve.

A rapid succession of unceasing knocking startles you, and you’re practically tripping over your own feet in a mad scramble for the door. Steve. Your Steve.

You grasp the knob firmly and fling the door open. No sooner than you do, a pair of lips press firmly to yours. They were warm, welcoming, longing, _familiar_. They linger for a brief moment before an equally familiar voice drifts from the other’s mouth to your ears.

“I’ve waited so long to do that again…” You squeeze your eyes tight, praying this isn’t a dream. It’s hard to hold back the tears. Six months of not seeing Steve after only knowing him one day? Most people would think you were absolutely bonkers. But that one day sparked endless weeks of you only thinking about Steve: missing the way he held your hand, craving more of his shy, innocent kisses. It’s felt like so long that he’s been gone, but this is it. This is happening. He’s _home_. He’s _here_. He’s…

Not Steve.

The man in front of you looks a hell of a lot like him, but it’s _not_. Stevie’s scrawny, barely taller than you, and has a shaggy flop mop of blonde hair that clings to his forehead, unmoved by the strongest of breezes. This man, however, towers almost a full foot above you, with bulky muscles and a cropped coif, parted and combed neatly. He’s easy enough to recognize, though, even without his cowl. With his stars and stripes, the red, white, and blue: it can’t be anyone other than Captain America himself. Your eyes go wide, brows shooting up so high they might just fly away.

“Captain! I-I think you have the wrong apartment, sir.” He shakes his head, chuckling. His hands wander down to yours, taking them in his so very delicately. The grasp is so gently, loving, like he _knows_ you. Something stirs in the pit of your stomach, and you avoid looking him in the eye. You don’t want to make this more awkward than it already is, but…

He whispers your name and squeezes your hands in a plea for your attention.

“I’m exactly where I need to be. Don’t… Don’t you recognize me? I mean, I know I look a lil’ different, but...” You give him a half smile, trying to pull your hands away.

“Look, I don’t know who you really are or how you found me, and I’m flattered, but I got a boyfriend already, a’right? I’m real flattered, Captain. Really, I am. But my Stevie-”

He interrupts, effectively silencing you with your own name again.

“It’s me. Hey, look at me. It’s _me_. It’s Steve.” Your gaze finally falls upon his face, examining every detail for any sign of deception. He really is as beautiful as everyone says. The long eyelashes, those big, blue eyes, his prominent jaw… They… are all Steve’s features. Still, you’re skeptical. Rightfully so, of course. If Steve _were_ coming home, he would’ve written you sooner.

So you shake your head like you’re trying to erase your thoughts.

“Ain’t no way. Can’t be. How did you-?“ He repeats your name twice more with more force, once again prompting you to stop talking.

“I can prove it,” Captain America says sweetly, stroking a knuckle down your jaw. It hooks beneath your chin, and his eyes locks on yours. “I can show you. Just give me the chance, okay?”

Begrudgingly, you concede. He reaches down, pulling a chain from the neckline of his suit. On the chain is a single dog tag, it’s mate long since sent away. It dangles in front of your face, reflecting light from your apartment. Etched into it is a name, a serial number, and a city.

**Rogers,**

**Steven G.**

**54985870**

**Brooklyn, NY**

You draw a shaky breath, covering your mouth a with body hands. Unless Steve’s dead, there’s no way anyone else could possibly have his tag.

“I gave you the other one, remember? Got in a helluva lot of trouble for it, too, but it was worth it, doll. It was so worth it. If you still don’t believe me, I got more. I can tell you every single thing we talked about on the pier, all about Bucky an’ Mae, my scars, my ma. How about all them sketches I sent you? I can tell you exactly what each one is. Got all night to stand here and tell you stuff until you believe me. I ain’t yankin’ your chain. It’s me.” It’s not possible. How? How could this possibly be him? How in the hell could this be _your_ Steve?

“Steve?” You reach forward, touching his jaw. His face breaks into a grin as he nuzzles his cheek into your palm. Your eyes stay locked on his, keeping a steady gaze. _Those eyes… I’d know those eyes anywhere._ “Oh my God… Steve!”

“Yeah, sugar, it’s me,” he murmurs, sweeping you up in his arms. Your own encircle his neck, pressing your face down. Tears come from seemingly nowhere, falling into the fabric wrapping his shoulder. Steve, _your_ Steve, he _is_ home.

“What the hell happened to you? I don’t remember you being so tall… Don’t remember you being such a meathead either.”

“You gimme those pretty words you promised, and I’ll come in and tell you all about it, baby.” You lift your watery eyes to meet his, your lips to meet his as well.

“I love you, Stevie. I love you, I love you, I love you,” you gasp out between kisses.

“I love you too, doll. An’ now that I gotcha back in my arms, I’m never lettin’ go again. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be rad, if you're into it. : D


End file.
